


Bitch

by MaxWrite



Series: Play Together, Stay Alive [1]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, F/M, Pegging, Spanking, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He does it because he likes it. Because it feels good. Because she needs him. Because she owns him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitch

No sense letting the dominatrix outfit go to waste.

One might suspect that this has been building between them from day one, when Benji and Jane met. Surely, if you're going to end up spanking, paddling, clamping, flogging, slapping, insulting and generally humiliating a guy on a regular basis for kicks, one would assume the attraction, the dynamic, had been there from the get-go. Perhaps it had. She'd initially been his team leader, had chosen him to be on her crew, so he naturally deferred to her. But exactly when her feelings towards him had begun to evolve, well, it's hard to say with Jane. She can be difficult to read.

Perhaps she'd always been drawn to him. Women tend to feel safe with Benji. He's non-threatening, funny, has an easy smile. Perhaps she would have been drawn to him even if she hadn't been forced to put her life in his hands time and time again. He'll never know. She was more focused on Hanaway back in the early days, at least on a personal, non-professional level. As well she should've been; tragically handsome, he was.

Benji wonders if she could have started doing this, what they did together, with anyone else. According to Jane, this is new to her. Not that she'd never considered it before, but Benji's the first she's ever explored it with. And Benji's not stupid, he knows why, even if she doesn't want to talk about it. It's the reason she's here with him instead of, say, Ethan.

Oh yeah, Benji saw it, that flicker of something between Jane and Ethan, that spark, the stolen glances, the extra little twinkle in the eyes. But that's over now. If anything ever came of it, it didn't last long. Jane was looking for something else, apparently. Benji can't even imagine Ethan would be into this. Then again, Ethan can do just about anything.

Tonight, Jane has been frolicking at a fetish ball, flogging important information out of powerful men, who so desperately need to give up control that a skilled purveyor of pain can beat just about any tidbit out of them. Jane's been prepping for this night for weeks now. She had to know what she was doing; the men she mingled with tonight weren't newbies.

When her dominatrix training had begun, Benji's relationship with her had already crossed the line into something more intimate, a friends-with-benefits sort of thing. But it had been the epitome of vanilla until Benji had agreed to let her practice her new skills on him. How that got started is still a bit fuzzy to Benji, though he vaguely remembers that it had involved alcohol and a late-night talk that had apparently culminated in Benji's rather giddy, bourbon-fueled confessions about fantasies of being dominated.

Well, she'd gotten the craft down pat, and after the night had ended, she'd returned to the hotel unscathed and loaded with precious info. This mission is over, or will be once Ethan and Will each turn up in one piece, but the desire to whip something hasn't left her. As soon as she'd reentered the suite, as soon as their eyes had met, they'd both known their arrangement wasn't ending tonight, that the mission being nearly finished had no bearing on what they did together.

Now she circles him. He can't see her with the blindfold on, of course, but he can hear her stilettos clip-clopping on the hardwood. The noise slowly moves around him. He tries not to fidget. He's not supposed to move. But he's got an itch on his left butt cheek that makes him want to wriggle. His wrists are shackled in leather restraints. It's a T-shaped device that not only holds his hands, but also his cock and his balls. The base of each is squeezed tight and pulled firmly back between his legs. The vertical strap of the device extends up from the underside of his balls, up his crack like a thong, to the small of his back where his hands are locked at either end of the horizontal strap of the T. The more he struggles, the more his hands pull on his cock and balls. He's trying desperately not to fidget. It's tempting enough to tug on his already pulled-taut genitals just for the sensation, and the itch isn't making it any easier.

It would be all too easy to shift his thumb, just a little, to scratch. Maybe she won't notice.

Better yet, maybe she will.

He gives it a shot. The clip-clopping stops instantly.

"What'd you just do?" she asks. Her voice is soft, so much more menacing than if she was yelling. He can imagine the look on her face, the furrowed brow, the intensity glittering in her dark eyes, that tension she gets in her mouth, the way she cants her head.

"Hmmmph," Benji replies. It's not a word. It wasn't meant to be a word. Even if he didn't have the ball gag in his mouth, he wouldn't know how to respond, except to say "Nothing, Mistress", which is a lie. She doesn't tolerate lying, either.

They both prefer the ball gag to stuffing underpants in Benji's mouth. As humiliating as it is to have underwear in the mouth, it would soak up all of Benji's saliva. This gag absorbs nothing and is large enough to make it impossible to swallow. Just one more thing Benji has no control over. His spit dribbles down his chin, dangles off and finds a home in the ottoman below.

"I said _what_ did you just _do_?" she demands. Her voice is closer, the scent of her perfume a little stronger. He can feel her heat. She has crouched before him. He whimpers as the end of the leather paddle nudges underneath his chin and presses up hard, forcing his face up and his head back until the collar he wears digs into the back of his head. She pushes the paddle's edge against his throat.

His muffled voice comes out again, this time trying to tell her he's sorry, but of course the words are lost around the ball.

"What was that?" she whispers. Her face is close to his now. He wants so badly to nuzzle at her, but he doesn't have permission and he can't ask for it with the gag in his mouth. He tries to repeat what he said. She _knows_ what he said. By now she can recognize the sound of "I'm sorry, Mistress" forcing its way out between Benji's lips and the gag. He says those words a lot.

"Yeah, you _are_ sorry," she says. A second later the paddle meets Benji's cheek with a sharp slap and stinging pain. He flinches, cringes. His cock pulses with arousal. He uses the opportunity, this brief moment after a punishment when he is expected to react, to tug on his restraints, wiggling back just a little against the T-strap.

She stands and moves around to his backside where she begins to strike him without warning. She concentrates on his right cheek first, starting with moderate force and slowly building up to firmer strikes. She saturates the area with pain, filling it with the reddened heat that can only come from a good spanking. His muffled grunts soon begin to mingle with moans of pleasure as the paddle's sting becomes familiar and almost friendly, as the sensation radiates and becomes a beautiful mix of heat, pleasure and pain.

Once the area is thoroughly beaten and it's clear he's enjoying it, she stops and gently drags the paddle's edge across the inflamed skin. Then he feels her nails do the same. He drops his head and writhes on the ottoman. He would hiss at the sensation if he could. As it is, he can only grunt and groan like an ogre that she has conquered and tied up. Without the paddling, the sharp sting settles into something duller. It is the scrape of her nails that brings the sharpness back, like trails of fire being drawn across his skin. He can't keep still. He shifts his weight from knee to knee, rolls his hips around, tugs on his restraints. He closes his eyes, puts his head down on the ottoman, lets the drool run freely from the corner of his mouth.

"Someone feels good, hm?" she murmurs. He does, and the sound of her voice only makes it that much better. This is as good as being cradled in her arms. It's the same, really. Their version of it.

"Uh-huh," he says in agreement.

"Good boy. You're learning to take it like the bitch that you are."

He merely groans. She speaks these words to him in the softest, sweetest voice. She is not insulting him. It's a compliment, it is praise. "Bitch" is a term of endearment. She can toss insults at him and actually mean them as insults, but that portion of the evening is over. The quietly menacing tone is now gone from her voice.

When she begins paddling his ass again, he groans hard as the dull ache there gets a fresh coat of pain. He rubs his nipples against the fabric of the ottoman. His dick throbs and he rocks his hips, trying to find it some friction against side of the ottoman.

"Can't keep still to save your life, can you? Naughty bitch, Benji," she says. She stops paddling and moves to his other side to give the left cheek the same treatment.

She really lays into him this time. Once the area is ready for the full brunt of her paddle, she strikes with more force than before. He and the ottoman begin to shift forward, but it's more that he can't stop trying to hump it, rather than an attempt to get away. She moves her assault down to his thighs next, painting the backs of them with red welts that merge and become a sea of hot pain. He takes the chance that he'll be yelled at and shifts his knees further apart. It makes him feel that much more vulnerable, that much more open to her. She doesn't say anything, though he swears the paddling gets a little worse.

And then the riding crop comes out.

His thighs continue to take the beating and it's worse than ever. The crop is always the worst. Or the best, depending on one's outlook. Its narrow surface delivers the kind of sting that can't be achieved with anything else, certainly not with the wide surface of a paddle. And with his skin is already burning, the sting is nearly unbearable.

It finally ends, leaving him a quivering, horny mess draped over the ottoman. She moves around to his front again. He hears her lilting laugh.

"Look at you, drooling on the floor like a fucking dog," she says. She crouches before him again. He raises his head for her and she takes hold of his jaw in one of her leather-gloved hands. "You're filthy," she whispers sweetly to him. Her breath is on his face, she's so close now. And then he feels her tongue on his chin, lapping at the drool there. He shudders. "You're my pathetic, filthy little cunt, aren't you?" she says, and then licks him again.

"Mm-hm," he agrees.

"Good boy," she whispers. She bestows a kiss on his forehead, then stands and moves away. He hears the weird, squidgy sound of silicone on leather, then the jingle of a metal buckle; a dildo being slipped into a strap-on, the strap-on being strapped on. When she returns to him, she crouches down and slaps his face with the dildo. It feels like a big one. It's probably Ralphie. Ralphie's the biggest.

  
**The Story of Ralphie the Giant Cock**   


"You're not gonna believe the size of this thing. It's massive!" Benji said when he'd finally gotten Jane on the phone. He was sitting in his living room with the remnants of a plain, brown package he'd torn open sitting next to him on the sofa. In his free hand was the single item that the package had held.

"Not sure this is the time to be having this conversation," she replied, sounding tense.

"Why not? What are you doing?"

"Shopping for my sister's baby shower. I'm surrounded by teddy bears and breast pumps and way too many chipper sales girls who can probably smell a pervert from a mile off."

"You're no pervert. You're the _mistress_ of a pervert," Benji said with a grin. Then, after a pause, he asked, "What potential uses do you suppose a breast pump might have besides the obvious?"

"I am not getting you a breast pump, Benji – Oh, hi. No, I'm fine." She wasn't talking to him anymore. Her voice had gotten a little further away as though she'd moved the phone slightly away from her face. "Just talking to my son. Yeah, he's with the sitter. He's six. He doesn't know what he's asking for, heh, heh, heh. Kids, right? Yes, of course, I'll shout if I need anything. Thank you so much… Way to go, now Kimmy the Sales Clerk is looking at me funny," she muttered into the phone.

"Well, be careful what you say out loud, then. Although, I have to say I'm more than a little intrigued by the idea of being your son. Mummy."

"Not _now_ , Benji."

"Here, hang on, I'm sending you a picture."

"What? No, no pictures, don't send me any –"

He stopped listening and took the phone from his ear to use its camera function. He quickly snapped a shot of his new toy, sent it, then waited, listening to Jane on the other end sigh with exasperation.

"Hold on," she said. "Let me go hide amongst the book shelves, they might afford me some cover."

"That's right, use your spy skills. Has the picture arrived yet?"

"Yeah, just a sec." Her voice was further away again when he heard her say, "Dear mother of god."

Benji had kept the toy in his hand for the shot, for reference, so hopefully she was getting the full effect. The dildo was about sixteen inches long, though only fourteen of them could be inserted, the bottom two inches consisting of the testicle-shaped base. It was made of silicone and had a high polish on its jet-black surface.

"Are you… sure you can take all that?" she asked.

"Dunno. We'll have a time finding out, though, won't we?"

"I guess so," she replied, her voice now low and husky. Mere thoughts of using the dildo on him were calming her, and the change in her voice was waking up his cock, made him touch himself through his jeans.

"How long will you be in that infernal store?" he asked, his own voice dropping down low.

"Hell if I know," she'd sighed, sounding like she'd rather be anywhere else. "And don't talk to me in that voice. I'm surrounded by little pink booties and furry things with big, soulful eyes. It's obscene."

"You started it."

"You just put that thing away someplace and wait. We'll find time to get together soon, I promise. And don't you dare try it out without me." Her voice went low and sexy again. "I'll know, Benjamin Dunn. You know that I'll know."

He gulped, pressed at the bulge snaking down his inner thigh. He loved it when she used his full name. "Yes, Mistress."

He heard her breath shudder then, and she whispered, "That's my good boy."

He sighed at that and was making a move to unbutton his jeans and release his hard-on when she asked, "You're not touching yourself, are you?"

"No, Mistress, of course not." He quickly moved his hand away from his crotch, planted it firm and flat on the sofa at his side. His dick throbbed impatiently inside his clothes.

"Good. I've changed my mind. Don't put the, uh, new arrival away. I want it sitting out where you have to look at it every single day, knowing that you can't use it yet."

With a groan, he replied, "Yes, Mistress."

"Good boy. Mummy's so proud of you." Her tone here had shifted to something one might use with an actual child, telling him that a sales person or customer had wandered too near. It turned him on even more, knowing someone could hear half their conversation. He decided to play with her a bit.

"Baby misses his Mummy," he said, his tone just as sex-laced as before, though he was smirking now.

"Don't say that, that's naughty," she scolded him in her mommy voice. Then in a more natural tone, all the sex now replaced with barely restrained giggles, "You're awful, you know that?"

"I know," he'd sighed, sounding as though his awfulness was the heaviest of burdens. "You've taught me too well, I'm afraid."

"So, where are you gonna put it?"

"Might leave it right where it is, on the coffee table. Lovely conversation piece."

"The living room's visible from your front door, isn't it? You're not worried a visitor might see it over your shoulder?"

"Mm, good point. Wouldn't want the landlady catching a glimpse of the thing. It's big enough she might try charging it rent."

"Something that big needs a name."

"What shall we call it?"

"Um…" She paused, then said, "Ralphie."

"Ralphie? Why on earth…?"

"Because I'm currently holding a stuffed animal named Ralphie." He could hear the grin in her voice as she added, "Ralphie's a rooster."

Benji grinned too. "Well, cock-a-doodle-doo."

And that was the story of Ralphie the Giant Cock.

* * *

The ball gag comes off, sending more drool down his chin.

"Don't swallow yet," she warns. He lets the liquid drain from his mouth. "That's right. You keep on drooling like the filthy fucking animal you are."

She slaps him with her hand this time, the leather glove stinging against his cheek, making him grunt in shock and sending spit flying from his mouth. He shakes his head, then stretches his jaw, working out the stiffness left in it from the gag.

"Now that you can speak, what do you say?" she asks.

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you, Mistress, for spanking me."

"And what else?"

Something hard touches his forehead, pushes his head back painfully, while something pointy presses into his chin. Her shoe.

"Thank you for whipping me earlier," he says, remembering the lashing he'd gotten across his back before the paddling had begun. "Thank you, Mistress."

"Good boy. Now thank me for removing your gag."

"Thank you for removing my gag, Mistress."

She removes her foot from his face. "My pleasure. I want to hear every pathetic thing that comes out of your mouth when I fuck you."

She goes back around to his ass and unfastens his restraints. If she's going to fuck him, that strap needs to be out of the way, but another restraint quickly replaces it, one that goes in front. It is less complicated, consisting of a stainless steel, weighted ring that fits around his balls. The ring squeezes them tight and weighs them down. Attached to either side of the ring by metal hoops are two leather cuffs for his wrists. He can move his hands just enough to remind him that he really can't move at all, that every tug pulls his balls tighter. He sighs and tugs on himself before she pushes him back down so his torso lies flat on the ottoman, his arms positioned awkwardly beneath him.

He hears the click of a flip-top bottle. Lube. Her fingertips touch him, lubricated patent leather prodding at him, rimming his hole. He arches his back before he can stop himself, desperate to get that finger inside himself.

Rather than berate or punish him for moving, for showing such weakness and neediness, she laughs softly. "Dirty little cunt," she murmurs. "You want it bad, don't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," he says, already breathless.

"What do we say?"

"Please, please, Mistress, please may I have your fingers inside me?"

She chuckles softly again and slips a finger in. She works that finger inside him for a while before it is joined by a second and then a third. All the while she is stroking his prostate, and he's so pleased that she is allowing him to move, to show her how badly he wants it. He wiggles around, pushing back on her fingers as she plays the sensitive gland inside him like an instrument, the notes coming out in his desperate moans. His dick is leaking, dribbling onto the floor.

She gets her pinkie finger, the fourth finger, in there too and he wonders if she's going to fist him first. He could go for a good fisting, actually. They tried that once before and it was brilliant. But the fingers are taken away and the slippery head of her cock is nudging at him.

"Open up, slut," she coos, petting his bruised back. She deliberately prods at the reddened lines of dull pain that crisscross the skin there, making him whimper and hiss. The pain there had been forgotten, but her poking reawakens it. He spreads his knees apart just a bit more for her. He arches and pushes his ass back.

There are two different Janes. One beats him, demands obedience, expects soldier-like control, no whimpering, no begging, no wriggling, no weakness. Benji is punished for those things with _that_ Jane. You stay in line with that Jane. You shut up and take it with that Jane. She has a hard edge to her voice that some might mistake for contempt or disappointment. It's not. _That_ Jane is merely trying to motivate him, get the best from him.

But this Jane has gotten out all her aggression. The hard edge is gone. She still inflicts pain, forcing him open with her cock, calling him names, poking at his bruises with relish, but her touch is loving even as it hurts him.

"Mistress," he sighs, whines, as she begins to push into him.

"That's my boy, open wide for it. Oh, that's a _good_ boy," she praises him. For each inch that he takes, he gets a loving poke at one of his bruises. He's panting, struggling to accept all of her, quivering as he is filled, but he can take it. He tries to be exceptionally good for her, tries to keep quiet as he is stretched open, tries to will himself to open up more quickly for her.

"What do we say?" she whispers as she drags her leather-wrapped nails down his wounded back.

He hisses and arches and the dildo pushes in deeper. "Please, Mistress," he pants, "fill me up… use me."

"My dirty slut-boy wants to be used, hm?" she asks. The noise he makes next isn't so much a reply as a response to his body taking the dildo to the hilt. He feels the silkiness of her stockinged thighs press against the backs of his own thighs, and his raw skin stings as the film-thin fabric rubs him there. She is hovering over his back and then puts a bit of her weight on him, her hips to his ass. She waits there for a moment, the dildo completely inside him. He quivers and whimpers and his muscles clench around her girth. He's so full of her.

She leans over, puts her mouth to his ear. "Say it again, bitch," she whispers.

"Use me," he says between moans. He says it without hesitation. He wants it so badly now, his voice has dropped to nearly a growl.

"Good, baby. Now beg me."

"Please use me, Mistress, please, oh _fuck_ , please, please, please…" And then he dissolves into incoherence because she finally begins to move, pulling out, pushing back in. She raises up off him, takes hold of the leather collar around his neck, holds onto it as one might hold the reins of a saddle. She yanks on it, choking him and forcing him to raise up too.

"Show me," she orders. "Show me how badly your cunt wants it."

He stands up on his knees, pushes his ass back because he's forgotten that his balls are shackled to his hands and he yelps at the strain he puts on them. He is more careful this time, resting his palms carefully on the ottoman's edge, making sure not to move his hips too far back from them, although he wants so badly to help her fuck him, to arch back and take his mistress all the way in.

He decides can't stay still. He has to move, needs to show her. His hands leave the ottoman and the heels of his palms rest on his upper thighs instead. He leans forward a bit so he can use his hips to push back against her, wincing and gasping every time she sinks all the way in. She still grips his collar, yanks back on it as she thrusts into him.

Then the choking stops and he hears her whip off the leather gloves. He feels her bare hands on him, gripping his hips. She begins really fucking him now. She pushes the outsides of her calves against the insides of his, nudging his knees further apart and making sure he can't close them even a little. His body is still adjusting to being so full as she begins to build up speed and he cries out as she pounds into him. But it's not long before the discomfort is gone and his body stops clenching defensively, opens up to take her without resistance. His prostate is a pulsing beacon of pure pleasure.

She raises up off her knees to a crouch, positioning her feet outside his legs. She gets her arm around his neck, presses her forearm to his throat. She holds him that way, her arm pressing the collar, the collar digging into his neck, crushing his airway as her hips pump back and forth, pistoning her dick inside him. She holds him against herself, his sore, bruised back to her leather-clad front. His skin sticks to the shiny surface and hurts each time he comes unstuck.

Her free hand is clawing at his chest, pulling at his nipples. Her lips are at his ear, licking along its edge. He could come right now without touching himself. He feels that good. But when she asks him if her bitch would like to come, he says no.

Her fucking slows, she releases his throat. "No?"

"No, Mistress," he pants.

"How come?"

"Not yet. Just not yet."

"You're learning control," she murmurs. She stops fucking him and withdraws. He sighs as his hole is left wide open and vulnerable. He stays there on his knees, hunched over like a wilted flower, and waits, listens to her step around to his front again. Suddenly, the blindfold is whipped off and early morning light hits his dilated pupils. He squints and winces. The sun must have risen while he was blindfolded. It was dark when the blindfold went on.

She stands before him, her curvy body in a black, patent leather bustier that looks painted on. It has garters attached to the silky, black stockings that hug her long, shapely legs. There are panties to match, but he can hardly see them with the strap-on and big, shiny black dildo in the way. With her dark hair, she contrasts against the hotel bedroom they're in. Everything here is a shade of white, cream, beige, ecru, eggshell, mother of pearl, including Benji. He is pale-skinned and golden-haired and blue-eyed. She is bronzed, dark, smoldering and mysterious compared to her surroundings, compared to him.

She brings a hand to his face, caresses his cheek. She looks into his eyes, asking a silent question. He nods. And she slaps him.

His face snaps around, but he keeps quiet. No noises of surprise this time because he was expecting it. When he looks up at her again, he gives her another nod. She slaps him again.

His cock throbs. He tugs on his balls with his restraints and moans. She slaps him once more, the other cheek this time. He gasps, whimpers.

"What do you want?" she asks softly, now stroking his face with no intention of hitting him again. He can feel that she isn't going to hit him. He can sense it. He is in tune with her. "What does my Benji want?"

His eyes are fully adjusted to the light now. He looks up at her earnestly and replies, "Whatever would make Mistress happy."

She smiles at him, looking touched by his words. "Stand up," she says. He wobbles to his feet. She is just slightly taller than him in the heels that she wears, but they come off, are kicked aside, and now she is a few inches shorter. She turns her hips a bit, so as not to poke him with her cock, cups his face and kisses him, full on the mouth. She slides her tongue inside. He shudders and eagerly kisses her back.

The current set of restraints comes off and another goes on, this one meant only for his cock and balls, not his hands. It is a leather strap that fits like a jock strap, with a little leather cage that holds his genitals tight to his body, mashing them down so he can't play with himself. She then tugs his collar and leads him to the bed.

"On your back," she softly orders. He lies down and she crawls on after him. He spreads and raises his legs without being told. He is rewarded with another kiss when she hovers over him, pushing her cock against his hole. The kiss is rough, forcing his lips against his own teeth and muffling his moans as she fills his ass once more.

Her hands find his to pin them to the mattress, and she plunges into him, fucks him hard, makes him scream against her mouth until his body adjusts again. When his cries quiet down, she releases his mouth, sits up a bit and watches him.

"That's it, take it like a bitch, Benji," she murmurs, her voice shaking now with her thrusts. Her hair is curtained around her face, swaying as she fucks him. The bed is shifting beneath them and her effort shows in her furrowed brow, her clenched jaw. Even her tits come free from their shiny, leather cups, her nipples slipping up and peeking out. The pushed-up flesh wobbles as she thrusts. Sweat is forming on her face. She means to fuck him senseless.

He lets her. He lies there, spread open as much as he can manage, offering her no resistance, and he takes it, all of it. Like the bitch that he knows he is. Her bitch.

His prostate sings with pleasure. His dick strains against its cage. He might come if it weren't all mashed down. If it were released now, he would fucking explode.

"Janie," he whimpers, forgetting to call her "mistress", but it doesn't bother her. She's too busy pummeling him, panting hard, groaning as though she might actually be able to feel his asshole clenching around her.

"That's my boy, my good boy, Benji, my perfect, beautiful slut," she coos. "Wanna come, baby? Hm?"

"Yes!" he cries. "Yes, please, please, Mistress, please!"

She stops for a moment, reaches for his leather jock and yanks it open. He sighs as his dick is released. It flops out and instantly begins to swell. She's fucking him again a second later and his body is desperate for release. But he knows she won't let him touch himself, and she won't touch his cock, either. He is meant to come hands-free. And he can do it. He knows he can. He's had enough practice with her before today, and at this point in their session his orgasm has been building inside him long enough. Her relentless fucking will force it out of him. His body will obey her.

He shuts his eyes and pushes up to meet each of her thrusts. He is willing his body to relax and let go while tensing his muscles the way he's learned to in order to make this happen. She leans down and her face mashes against his, her mouth and nose to his cheek. Her arms slip underneath his neck and she hugs him. He hugs her too, holds on for dear life, quivering in her arms, concentrating so hard his muscles ache.

Is he crying? Yes, that's a tear running down the side of his face now. What is this in him that she can spank, whip, slap and fuck out of him? She breaks him down and he willingly lets her. He's never felt a need for this before, this kind of emotional release. He doesn't know where it's coming from, and it's not the first time it's happened with her.

He shudders hard and begins to spill, hot and sticky, between them. She fucks him full tilt, whispering filth in his ear and hugging him tight. He cries out her name and then just plain cries out, not words, but mere sounds, as his climax rips through him.

Then he is coming down, his arms sagging away from her body to lie limp on the bed. She stops fucking him. He is breathing hard but may as well be dead for all the moving he feels capable of at the moment. He feels her shift, sit up and withdrew from inside him. He hears her panting, hears the strap-on being unbuckled and discarded, then feels her fingers glide through the mess he's made on his own belly. Then her fingers touch his lips and he opens up, takes them in, sucks them clean.

"Sit up," she orders. "I know you're tired, but sit up for me."

He finds what little strength he has left and forces himself into a sitting position. The leather jock is still fastened around his waist, though the pouch lies open between his legs. She unbuckles the contraption for him.

"Clean yourself off for me, okay?" she coos. She reaches forward to brush the tears from his cheeks, and he is once again surprised by their presence. He lets her clean his face, then he begins wiping come off his stomach with his hands and licking his fingers clean.

"Now me, come on," she says, pulling his head down to her abdomen as she lies down again. He is less tired now and can get up on all fours to lick his come from the belly of the shiny leather bustier. He licks it completely clean, is rewarded with another kiss when he's finished, and then she says, "Take my panties off, Benji."

"Yes, Mistress." He moves down, bringing his face down to crotch level, finds the little ties on either side of her underwear, pulls them loose and pulls the narrow strip of fabric off. She is trimmed down here, not completely shaved. He likes that, wants to touch and smell her. He looks up at her hopefully.

She takes her panties from him and pushes the crotch in his face. He inhales her scent deeply and can't help but moan as he exhales.

"Want that, Benji?"

"Yes, Mistress, yes, please," he replies without hesitation. He manages to swipe his tongue up along the warm, damp fabric before she pulls it away.

"Go ahead," she says, and she spreads her legs wide for him. A little chill of excitement shivers up his spine as he looks at her pussy. He licks his lips and leans in, presses his nose to the trimmed hair just above her slit and breathes in. His tongue finds her clit and licks around it, just the way she likes. His tongue's tip flicks gently over the sensitive little nub inside its sheath and across her labia. He looks up at her when she begins petting his head. She is watching him with sleepy eyes. She smiles lazily at him.

"Good boy," she whispers, her voice breathier now. Her hands lovingly pet him, fingers tracing his hairline. Then she drops her head back. She's beginning to pant, her chest heaving, her hard, brown nipples poking out over the gleaming, black cups. He wants to curl up in her arms and suck them. The thought coupled with the smell of her, the wetness of her, is enough to make him reach down to touch himself again even though he's still flaccid.

She begins moving her hips, rolling them around, rubbing herself against his lips, even his nose. He hums against her, sounding hungry, greedy. The scent of her, the heat of her, the sight and sound of her arousal all make him pant as heavily as she is. He hooks his hands under her thighs, holds on and eats her out like a starving man until she's bucking, losing control and then finally comes on his face with his name on her lips. She calls out for him, holding onto the sides of his head and riding his mouth until she's too sensitive to go on.

She nudges him away, panting, and just lies there. Her legs remain spread, her pussy open to him. He stays where he is and watches her. He doesn't want to stop, but he knows he can't keep eating her now, not when she's so sensitive. He wipes his mouth and sniffs at her a little as he awaits further instruction.

"Come on up," she pants. He scrambles up to her side and lies down facing her. She rolls over so her back is to him and says, "Benji, can you…?"

The bustier. He unzips the leather garment for her while she unhooks the garters. She sighs, relieved, as she peels it off, rolls onto her back again and tosses the bustier away from her.

She rolls the stockings down and off next, one by one, showing off her beautiful legs. She chucks the stockings too, and now she's naked. Her firm, tanned body has a faint gleam to it in places where she's sweating – her clavicle, between her breasts – and he just stares, in awe of her.

She lies there, eyes closed, catching her breath, until he reaches for her. When she feels his hand touch hers, she opens her eyes and smiles at him.

"Hey, you," she says. She takes his hand and brings it to her chest where she holds it over her heart. "Thank you."

"Thank me?" he asks. "What for?"

"Come on. You know."

He has an inkling, but he doesn't want to say it, just in case he's wrong. Or in case he hits a painful nerve.

She rolls to face him, shimmies close and cuddles into his arms. "We both know why this started happening," she whispers. "I don't know why it helps me, but it does. It's not about punishing you. You know that, right? Please tell me you know that."

"Oh, yeah," he says hastily. "Course. I just assumed maybe you needed to, I dunno, take it out on someone. Anyone." He wonders if they truly are talking about the same thing.

"Oh, Benji," she sighs, looking pained now. "No, that's not it. It's not about punishment. It's just that you seem to enjoy it, and so do I. It's about pleasure, pure and simple. Letting off steam. It's about connecting with you."

She reaches up to finally unbuckle his collar. She pulls it off, sets it aside, and nudges her face up underneath his chin, nuzzles his throat. He holds her securely, as though his arms might actually protect her from the dangers outside the big bedroom window, as though his embrace can rewrite history or alter her memory, make her believe that he hadn't been completely useless in that alleyway while she'd watched their friend die.

"You were there," she says. "You've been with me ever since. I can't explain it. It's like… it's like…"

"We share a bond or something," he offers.

"Yeah. Exactly. We're the only ones who saw him die."

There it is. The thing that he thought she wouldn't want to admit. Jane lost so much more than Benji did when Hanaway died, but the fact is they both lost a teammate that day. A friend. They were both present to see the light fade from his eyes, and that tragedy bonds them. When Jane wants to talk about Hanaway, it's Benji she comes to, it's Benji's shoulder she leans on. Because he gets it. That's why it's Benji she ties up and whips, Benji who's her good, obedient boy. Instead of Ethan. Because Ethan might understand loss as well as either of them, might sympathize with her as much as anyone could. But he wasn't there.

"I just want to connect with you," she whispers against his neck. She looks up at him. Her gaze is vulnerable now. "I need to."

He understands that need, understands how hollow it would feel to do with someone else the things they do together. That's why, after a night of toying with business men, spanking them, calling them names, she still needed her Benji. She still needed to come back here to the hotel to do the things to him that she'd done at the fetish ball. And then some; he knows she didn't fuck anybody else tonight. She wouldn't. That's only for him. Only for the two of them.

And suddenly he gets it, why all his pent-up emotion comes out when they do this. Yes, she lost more than he did that day, but he still lost. He still feels it. It still fractured something inside him. He didn't realize, until now, how much he was affected. He needs her like she needs him.

She's such a contradiction, this soft, sensitive woman can who can shoot a man dead, who can beat Benji senseless and make him beg and even cry. She's the gentlest, strongest, sweetest, baddest creature he's ever known. And all at once he knows that even now, outside of their role play, without the toys and the outfits and the pain and the insults, with just him and just her, naked and raw and torn open inside, he knows that he truly does worship her.

The realization excites him, enough to make him a little breathless just lying there holding her.

He breathes deep, calms himself, squeezes her, whispers, "Yes, Mistress."

END


End file.
